 Ratu Tevita Mara |  |
 Dialoge Fiji CEO Nilesh Lal |  The Tui Nayau, Ratu Tevita Mara, may have delivered the most devastatingly accurate assessment of Dialogue Fiji's recent State of the Economy forum when he dismissed it as a mere "talkfest". Indeed, what unfolded was perhaps one of the most extraordinary spectacles in Fiji's modern political history. The organiser Nilesh Lal promised a national conversation on the economy. |
Instead, Fiji was treated to something resembling a political family reunion where everyone had arrived carrying grievances, legal baggage, and an explanation as to why somebody else had ruined the country.
There sat former Attorney-General Aiyaz Sayed-Khaiyum, explaining the state of Fiji's economy while facing multiple criminal charges.
There sat former Deputy Prime Minister and Finance Minister Biman Prasad, discussing governance, accountability and economic stewardship while facing criminal proceedings of his own.
There sat former Prime Minister Mahendra Chaudhry, whose own conviction over financial declaration and foreign currency offences remains part of Fiji's political history.
And there sat former Deputy Prime Minister Manoa Kamikamica, facing perjury-related charges.
One almost expected the moderator to begin the proceedings by saying: "Ladies and gentlemen, before discussing fiscal policy, could all panellists please disclose their next court appearance?"
Or perhaps: "Any statements made during this forum should not be construed as admissions against interest."
The irony was impossible to ignore. Dialogue Fiji could have assembled economists. It could have invited former Reserve Bank governors. One was there: Savenaca Narube of Unity Fiji party. It could have brought together successful entrepreneurs, accountants, development specialists, investment analysts, academics, exporters, tourism leaders, or independent policy experts.
Instead, it assembled a collection of political heavyweights who have spent years accusing one another of destroying Fiji. The result was magnificent. Khaiyum explained what was wrong with the current government. Prasad explained what was wrong with the previous government. Chaudhry explained what was wrong with both. Kamikamica explained what was wrong with the political system.
Nobody explained what was wrong with themselves.
That subject never quite made it onto the agenda. The entire forum resembled four former captains of the Titanic holding a conference to determine who was responsible for the iceberg. Every speaker appeared convinced that Fiji's problems began precisely when somebody else assumed power.
Economic stagnation? Someone else's fault. Debt? Someone else's fault. Inflation? Someone else's fault. Governance failures? Someone else's fault. Declining public confidence? Definitely someone else's fault.
If blame were a renewable resource, Fiji would become the richest country in the Pacific overnight. Yet there was an even deeper irony. For decades, many of the individuals on that stage have occupied positions at the very centre of Fiji's political and economic life. They have sat in Cabinet. They have drafted budgets. They have shaped policy. They have exercised executive power. They have influenced legislation. They have directed ministries.
And now they sit on public platforms explaining why Fiji faces the problems it faces. It is rather like inviting a group of former fire chiefs to discuss why the town keeps burning down.
At some point, a member of the audience might reasonably ask: "Gentlemen, before we discuss who started the fire, could you remind us who was in charge of the fire station?"
What made the event particularly fascinating was the discussion of accountability. There is something uniquely Fijian about politicians accusing each other of ethical shortcomings while their respective legal teams prepare submissions elsewhere. There is something equally remarkable about hearing lectures on transparency from individuals who have spent years accusing each other of secrecy, corruption, abuse of office, conflicts of interest, mismanagement and constitutional wrongdoing.
One could almost hear the collective sigh of ordinary citizens struggling with rising food prices, housing costs, migration pressures, deteriorating services and stagnant wages. Many may have wondered whether Fiji has somehow exhausted its supply of economists. Surely among a population approaching one million people there exists at least one economic expert capable of discussing GDP growth without simultaneously discussing legal proceedings.
What was largely absent from the forum was a clear roadmap. How exactly will Fiji diversify its economy? How will it stem the loss of skilled workers? How will it finance infrastructure? How will it improve healthcare? How will it address declining productivity? How will it tackle drugs, HIV infections, organised crime and deteriorating public confidence in institutions?
These questions remain. What Fiji received instead was another round of political score-settling disguised as economic analysis. This is why the Tui Nayau's criticism resonated so strongly. His criticism was not merely directed at one speaker or another.
It was directed at a political culture that has become addicted to discussion while avoiding resolution.
Fiji does not suffer from a shortage of speeches. It does not suffer from a shortage of forums. It does not suffer from a shortage of dialogues, consultations, symposiums, conferences, stakeholder engagements, strategic conversations, policy roundtables or national discussions.
It suffers from a shortage of implementation. The country has become exceptionally good at talking about problems. Solving them is another matter entirely. By the end of the Dialogue Fiji event, the debt remained. The cost-of-living crisis remained. The migration crisis remained. The healthcare challenges remained. The infrastructure problems remained. The governance concerns remained. The only thing that increased was the quantity of political rhetoric.
Perhaps that is why so many people left with the impression that they had attended not an economic forum but a theatrical production.
Every actor knew his lines. Every actor knew the villain. The difficulty was that every actor believed the villain was somebody else.
And perhaps that is why Ratu Tevita Mara's description of the event as a "talkfest" struck such a nerve.
Because if speeches alone could rescue economies, Fiji would already be an economic superpower.
Instead, the nation remains trapped in an endless cycle where the same political figures who helped shape the country's past gather periodically to explain why someone else is responsible for its present.
The curtain falls.
The audience applauds.
The speeches end.
And the problems remain exactly where they were before the show began.
There sat former Attorney-General Aiyaz Sayed-Khaiyum, explaining the state of Fiji's economy while facing multiple criminal charges.
There sat former Deputy Prime Minister and Finance Minister Biman Prasad, discussing governance, accountability and economic stewardship while facing criminal proceedings of his own.
There sat former Prime Minister Mahendra Chaudhry, whose own conviction over financial declaration and foreign currency offences remains part of Fiji's political history.
And there sat former Deputy Prime Minister Manoa Kamikamica, facing perjury-related charges.
One almost expected the moderator to begin the proceedings by saying: "Ladies and gentlemen, before discussing fiscal policy, could all panellists please disclose their next court appearance?"
Or perhaps: "Any statements made during this forum should not be construed as admissions against interest."
The irony was impossible to ignore. Dialogue Fiji could have assembled economists. It could have invited former Reserve Bank governors. One was there: Savenaca Narube of Unity Fiji party. It could have brought together successful entrepreneurs, accountants, development specialists, investment analysts, academics, exporters, tourism leaders, or independent policy experts.
Instead, it assembled a collection of political heavyweights who have spent years accusing one another of destroying Fiji. The result was magnificent. Khaiyum explained what was wrong with the current government. Prasad explained what was wrong with the previous government. Chaudhry explained what was wrong with both. Kamikamica explained what was wrong with the political system.
Nobody explained what was wrong with themselves.
That subject never quite made it onto the agenda. The entire forum resembled four former captains of the Titanic holding a conference to determine who was responsible for the iceberg. Every speaker appeared convinced that Fiji's problems began precisely when somebody else assumed power.
Economic stagnation? Someone else's fault. Debt? Someone else's fault. Inflation? Someone else's fault. Governance failures? Someone else's fault. Declining public confidence? Definitely someone else's fault.
If blame were a renewable resource, Fiji would become the richest country in the Pacific overnight. Yet there was an even deeper irony. For decades, many of the individuals on that stage have occupied positions at the very centre of Fiji's political and economic life. They have sat in Cabinet. They have drafted budgets. They have shaped policy. They have exercised executive power. They have influenced legislation. They have directed ministries.
And now they sit on public platforms explaining why Fiji faces the problems it faces. It is rather like inviting a group of former fire chiefs to discuss why the town keeps burning down.
At some point, a member of the audience might reasonably ask: "Gentlemen, before we discuss who started the fire, could you remind us who was in charge of the fire station?"
What made the event particularly fascinating was the discussion of accountability. There is something uniquely Fijian about politicians accusing each other of ethical shortcomings while their respective legal teams prepare submissions elsewhere. There is something equally remarkable about hearing lectures on transparency from individuals who have spent years accusing each other of secrecy, corruption, abuse of office, conflicts of interest, mismanagement and constitutional wrongdoing.
One could almost hear the collective sigh of ordinary citizens struggling with rising food prices, housing costs, migration pressures, deteriorating services and stagnant wages. Many may have wondered whether Fiji has somehow exhausted its supply of economists. Surely among a population approaching one million people there exists at least one economic expert capable of discussing GDP growth without simultaneously discussing legal proceedings.
What was largely absent from the forum was a clear roadmap. How exactly will Fiji diversify its economy? How will it stem the loss of skilled workers? How will it finance infrastructure? How will it improve healthcare? How will it address declining productivity? How will it tackle drugs, HIV infections, organised crime and deteriorating public confidence in institutions?
These questions remain. What Fiji received instead was another round of political score-settling disguised as economic analysis. This is why the Tui Nayau's criticism resonated so strongly. His criticism was not merely directed at one speaker or another.
It was directed at a political culture that has become addicted to discussion while avoiding resolution.
Fiji does not suffer from a shortage of speeches. It does not suffer from a shortage of forums. It does not suffer from a shortage of dialogues, consultations, symposiums, conferences, stakeholder engagements, strategic conversations, policy roundtables or national discussions.
It suffers from a shortage of implementation. The country has become exceptionally good at talking about problems. Solving them is another matter entirely. By the end of the Dialogue Fiji event, the debt remained. The cost-of-living crisis remained. The migration crisis remained. The healthcare challenges remained. The infrastructure problems remained. The governance concerns remained. The only thing that increased was the quantity of political rhetoric.
Perhaps that is why so many people left with the impression that they had attended not an economic forum but a theatrical production.
Every actor knew his lines. Every actor knew the villain. The difficulty was that every actor believed the villain was somebody else.
And perhaps that is why Ratu Tevita Mara's description of the event as a "talkfest" struck such a nerve.
Because if speeches alone could rescue economies, Fiji would already be an economic superpower.
Instead, the nation remains trapped in an endless cycle where the same political figures who helped shape the country's past gather periodically to explain why someone else is responsible for its present.
The curtain falls.
The audience applauds.
The speeches end.
And the problems remain exactly where they were before the show began.
